


The First Stall in the Girl’s Bathroom

by hashtagimanartist



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Blink And You Miss It Slash, Bullying, Coming Out, Gay Richie Tozier, Gen, Good Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, Internalized Homophobia, Mike Hanlon is Pure of Heart and Should Be Loved For It, Mike Hanlon is a Good Friend, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Richie goes through some stuff i’m sorry, Stanley Uris is a Good Friend, Stanlon if you really squint, Underage Smoking, oh yeah they’re like 15 here, they live in Derry in 1991 i mean what do you expect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 05:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21031121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hashtagimanartist/pseuds/hashtagimanartist
Summary: Richie Tozier sucks flamer cock!!based on that writing on the bathroom stall- the next installment of the I Make Richie Suffer and I’m Sorry seriesEDIT: Some minor changes were made to previous chapters! Please read from the beginning to understand better! :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for Homophobia!! Stay safe!!

Look, Richie didn’t plan on ending up in the girls bathroom, but Bowers was chasing him, and he _literally_ had nowhere else to hide. He ducked into the stall, pulled his feet up onto the toilet seat, and held his breath, trying to calm down by reading what the girls wrote on the wall. He’d read everything in the boys’ room, but he was bored about how many “_Person M wants to _bang _Person F!_” or “_Person F is a slut_” (even though Person M has slept with _far more people than her) notes there were. _

__

__

So here he was, eyes wandering as Bowers banged on the door before walking away (_thank you toxic masculinity!_). He exhaled and steadied his breath, but the calm didn’t last.

_Richie Tozier sucks flamer cock!!_

His breath quickened and Richie began to panic. This was the girls bathroom near the cafeteria! He was pretty confident that most if not _all _the girls in the school had used this bathroom at least once. And this was the stall closest to the door. The most used. The most _read._

He didn’t know what to do. Bowers was probably waiting outside the door; he couldn’t just _leave_. He slowly exited the stall, trying as hard as he could to stop hyperventilating so he could concentrate. Walking up to the window with a shaky breath and hands, Richie thought about how all this stuff got out. How everyone knew. How the girl knew. It had to be Bowers, right? There was no way he kept what happened at the arcade a secret. He didn’t know any girls who would know his secret; Bev certainly didn’t know. Unless… unless she did? 

_No, _he told himself. _If Bev knew, she wouldn’t hang around you all the time. She’d have told the losers already, and you’d be more alone than ever. _

He opened the window gingerly and took a breath. Coast was clear. He jumped out and ran as fast as he could, abandoning his bike at the entrance- it was within sight of the doors to the school and if Bowers was still there, he would _definitely _be seen. 

Richie didn’t know to where he was running until he realized he was in front of Stanley’s house. 

_Of course my brain said _“Go see Stan,” he thought.

He brought his hand to his face to adjust his glasses when he noticed how damp his cheeks were. He’d been crying a _lot_, and he didn’t even know it. 

_Jesus, Rich. You’re such a girl. _He frowned. _Beverly is the strongest person you know, and she’s a girl._ He shook his head. _Yeah, yeah. I’m a baby instead. _

He knocked on the floor and Stan opened it, looking curiously at Richie. He felt like he was being assessed, but he found that it was okay coming from Stan. Stan cocked his head to the right and stood aside to motion Richie in the house. They walked into the kitchen, and Stan started busying himself.

“Richie? Are you okay?”

Richie shook his head. 

“They know. At least half the school knows my _dirty secret_, and I’ve been so _careful._”

Stanley furrowed his brows and brought out a jar of peanut butter, jam, and the bread from the box on the counter. The two didn’t say anything more until the boys both had a sandwich in their hands. Stanley motioned for Richie to follow him upstairs to his room, softly waving to his parents who were in the living room. 

Richie smiled at Stan’s near perfect room, and Stan rolled his eyes when Richie carefully sat down in the chair by the desk, mindful of the intentionally organized pens on the surface. It was out of character for him to be delicate, but he knows how much it means to Stan. 

Richie and Stanley’s relationship was different than the others. Where Richie would tease or pick on Eddie, or Bill, or Ben, or even Mike, Richie was softer with Stan. Not softer… He couldn’t place the word. He just knew that it was different. Maybe it had something to do with Stan seeing Richie cry over the book they had to read in fifth grade- the most vulnerable he was in front of anyone, ever. (That’s a lie. He once let Stan know the real reason he sprained his ankle when he was 11- and it wasn’t a complicated sex position with Eddie’s mom. Bowers had picked him up to say some… choice words before dropping the smaller boy on the ground harshly. Richie never cried that much in front of another person in his life.) Stan was his _best friend_, other than Eddie, but even then it was different with Eddie. But Richie didn’t wanna think about the relationship he had with Eddie right now. It would make everything too real. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Stanley sat down on the bed, smoothing out the sheets beside him. 

“I-” Richie paused. “Yes. But I don’t know _how_. I know that you’d be okay, at least I hope you’d be okay, but I can’t get it out of my mind that if I tell anyone, I’ll be signing _The Last Will and Testament of Richard Tozier_, and I’m still a _child._”

Stan modded, motioning for Richie to continue. “It’ll be fine, Rich. I’ll be fine. Okay? _You’ll be fine_.” 

Richie swallowed. “Richie Tozier… sucks flamer cock. That was written in permanent black marker on the first stall in the girls bathroom. Underlined two times. You’d have to be illiterate to miss it. Half the school knows. At _least_.” He didn’t meet Stan’s eyes. Richie fidgeted in the seat, adjusted his glasses and began biting his fingernails, a habit he had dropped for a whole month because _Eddie fucking Kaspbrak_ told him it was unsanitary. New tears made their way down Richie's face, and Stan stood up, walking over to the boy at his desk. 

“Richie?”

He said nothing. 

“Can you… can you say it? What you’re thinking?”

Richie shook his head, still looking away. “Can’t say it out loud. Makes it real. Can’t be real, can’t be real _can’t be real cantbereal_-”

“Richard.” Stanley put his hands on Richies shoulders and tried to steady him. “I’ll be right back.” He left the room and shortly came back with a glass of water. He put the glass into Richie’s hands and put his own into his lap, giving Richie some space. “Drink. You can’t cry while you’re drinking; it’ll help you calm down.”

After he finished his cup of water and successfully calmed down, at least a little bit, he looked at Stan. “IT knew. IT _knew_ and IT _used it against me_. Taunted me. The missing posters because we live in _fucking Derry_, where being- where _it_ is a deathwish. IT used E- the… person I like. _Like _like. I’d see… him. Dying. Or dead. Or angry with me. Because of _the secret_. I had a nightmare because of IT one time, where he… he _strangled_ me because of _my dirty secret._ I almost told you before. I almost told the _whole fucking party _last month, but Eddie was going off about STIs or AIDS or something, and he mentioned…_ it_. Not _IT_, but… what _I_ am. And the look on his _face_. I couldn’t tell you guys. I still can’t say the _fucking word out loud_. I’m so sorry. _Fuck_.” He picked up the glass and brought it to his lips, only to remember that he finished it. He whimpered and took a breath. 

“Rich-”

“Stan I’m-”

“Yeah?”

“I’m… I'm gay.”

“It’s okay, Richie. You know that right?”

Richie shook his head and tears ran down his face once more. He didn’t speak. 

He couldn’t _breathe_. 

Stan looked at Richie, and reached a hand out to the shaking boy before retracting slowly. “Is touch okay? Rich? Can I touch you?”

Richie shook his head, then nodded, then shrugged and let out a broken sob. He covered his mouth and tried to steady himself, but he found he was unable to. 

Stan hugged him tightly. “Do you wanna call the Losers?” Before Richie could adamantly refuse, Stan continued: “You don’t have to come out or anything yet, but I think it’d be good to see all of them. Is that okay?”

Richie took a shuddering breath, and nodded. “Okay. I’ll tell them to meet us at the clubhouse.”


	2. Chapter 2

In all honesty, Stan was at a loss. He had never really been in this kind of situation before- and he wasn’t really expecting it from _Richie _of all people. He made more comments about female anatomy than Bowers, and… G-d that should have been _obvious_. But back then, he supposed Richie was just _super_ hormonal. 

And here they were. Walking to the clubhouse, Richie about two feet apart from him. Not Stan’s choice of course, but he wasn’t sure if Richie needed space or was… keeping a distance on purpose. To combat the latter, Stan reached out and put a hand around Richie’s shoulder. Richie tenses, and exhales. 

“It really is okay, Richie. I wasn’t lying about that.” 

“In theory, I know that. But in my head… it’s harder. I’ve spent all this time… all this time saying _‘keep it to yourself, Richie,’ ‘don’t touch the other boys, Richie,’ ‘they’ll know your secret, Richie.’ _I don’t know how to unlearn it. And in a way, I still can’t unlearn it yet, because the rest of the losers probably don’t know.”

Stan let his arm fall, but kept the space between them small. “What do you mean ‘probably’?”

Richie lets a sad smile out. “It was written on the _first stall _in the _girl’s bathroom. _Bev might have seen it. And she might have told Ben, or Bill. And Bowers isn’t exactly quiet about it.”

Stan was… stuck, to say the least. He couldn’t speak on behalf of the losers- they didn’t really talk about this… stuff. Derry was a death zone for queers, there was no denying it. And as much as he’d love to pat Richie on the back and say “no worries, Richie, I understand everything you're going through, because I'm queer too, and I know the losers will all be just fine,” he just couldn’t. Not when everyone they knew was born and raised here by people who were born and raised here (besides Ben- maybe he’d understand more). So instead, he told Richie that he’d be there for him. No matter what. That elicited and sniff from the taller boy, and Stan pressed his lips together and nodded.

They arrived at the clubhouse exactly 15 minutes after Stanley called all the losers before leaving the house, and the only one there was Beverly. 

“Hey, guys,” she said, lighting a cigarette. “How’s it?”

Richie took a breath. Stan patted his arm, calmly whispering “you don’t have to.”

“I know,” Richie whispered back. He turned to Bev. “Bevvy? Have… do you read the graffiti on the bathroom stalls?”

Beverly’s grin faltered for a second. “Uh… sometimes? Why, did…” She trailed off. 

“So you know then.” Richie looked down. Beverly stayed quiet. Looked away. “Say something, please, _God_, Beverly, say something.”

“I know the rumors,” Bev supplied. “But I don’t know. Not really.”

“They’re-”

Richie was interrupted by Mike, who was quickly followed by the rest of the losers. 

“Sorry I'm late,” Mike said. “We had to take the long route; Hockstetter was prowling by the Kissing Bridge.”

Richie paled. He ran past them and out of the clubhouse, the sound of his retching could be heard from inside.

“Holy shit, what happened? Is he okay? Is he sick?” Eddie looked back and forth between each of the losers. 

“Stan?” Beverly walked over to him, putting the cigarette out in the ashtray that Eddie insisted they keep in the clubhouse. _If you’re going to smoke inside, you cannot keep putting it out on the _dry dirt floor, _dumbass_. “You came here with him. Do you know what’s going on?”

“I’m going out to him,” Mike said. “Keep talking, but maybe pick another subject. It might help his anxiety; I think he was worried about all of us watching him.” Mike hopped out of the hideout, and looked around for Rich. 

He was sitting maybe 50 feet from the clubhouse, in the fetal position at the base of a tree. Crying. 

“Richie?” Mike gingerly approached him, careful to make his presence known, while simultaneously being as quiet as possible. Richie sniffed.

“Careful where you step,” he said. “I threw up somewhere over there.”

“Good to know,” Mike chuckled sadly. He watched his step more carefully and made it over to Richie. He sat down next to him, offering a hand. “My mom used to hold my hand when I was sad or scared,” he explained, before slowly lowering it. Richie snatched his hand out of the air and held it tightly, new tears making their way quickly down his face.

“I'm so _fucking _scared, Mikey. So fucking scared.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Richie looked up and opened his mouth as if to speak, but decided against it. He let go of Mike’s hand and stood up. Mike went to stand too, but Richie waved him off. “‘M not going anywhere, yet. Just putting some space between us so you don't feel gross for holding my hand in a second.” He sat down about two feet away from Mike, but in front of him, rather than next to him. They faced each other head on, and Richie wrung his hands until they were red. “I want to tell you guys, really, I do. It would be so much easier. But I…”

“Take your time. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Richie thought about it. “Doesn't feel like it. It feels like one of these days, Bowers is actually going to kill me.”

“I feel you there, Rich.” 

The air was painfully thick with tension, neither boys knowing quite how to clear it.  
“Do you know the reason Bower’s gang started coming after me in the first place?”

“Not originally, but they come after you now because you’ve got straight A’s right? Like you’re super smart, and you’re kinda lanky, so you’re an easier target, and a lazy pick? The coke bottle glasses probably don't help either, huh?” The two smiled softly and Richie let out a sharp exhale.

“It’s more than that. It’s ‘cause we live in Derry Fucking Maine, and it _ain’t California, darlin’._”

“It’s got you really nervous, huh?”

“You don't even _know_, Mikey. Hell, if you feel the way Derry feels about what I’m eventually going to tell you, my life would be over,” Richie pushed his glasses up, and let out a laugh. “Those biceps would actually crush my skull like a stick of butter, I think.”

“Don’t think so, buddy. And I think it’d be a little harder than butter,” said Mike.

“Don’t _pretend_, buddy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’ve probably heard the names people call me. Real creative, they are.”

“Rich. I’m homeschooled. All I’ve heard Bowers say around you was at the rock fight a month ago, and those comments were about Bev. We don’t usually walk together, so I don’t hear anything from him about you. I’ve heard shit about _Stan_, but not you.” Mike furrowed his brows, and leaned forward, shortening the space between them by a few inches.

“Shit, I forgot. _Fuck_, you really _wouldn’t _know, then.”

“Yup.”

They sat in silence for a few more moments. Richie started breathing a little faster.

“Take some breaths, it’s really okay, Richie.”

“Guess. Make me play truth or dare, I don’t know. God, I can’t keep skirting around it, I really need to tell you, I can’t keep doing this.” He was rocking a little bit now. 

_Nearing a panic attack, probably_, Mike thought. “Do you have a water bottle?” Richie shook his head aggressively. Mike stood, offering a hand to Richie. “C’mon, Richie. Let’s see if any of the losers have one. All that crying is gonna dehydrate you.”

“Why are you so good to me, Mama Mikey?”

He let out a sharp breath, a light chuckle. “‘Cause you lil ducks would get lost without me, I’m sure. Well, maybe not Stan… or Ben. But you, Bill, and Eddie? Oh, boy, Y’all are a handful.”

“Y’all? Did we land in the good ol’ south, daddy? Are you gonna introduce me to a nice young belle and have tea and beignets on the river?” Richie donned his southern accent, and with a hiccup acting as an echo of a sob, he pushed his glasses back up his nose.

“Never call me ‘daddy’ again, Richie, or these arms will definitely crush your skull like a stick of butter,” Mike said, trying to keep a straight face, but ultimately letting a smile out at Richie batting his long black eyelashes. 

When they arrived at the hatch of the clubhouse, Mike turned to Richie. “Do you wanna wait out here, or would you rather come inside?”

“Out here, definitely out here. Gotta tell you before anyone else.”

Mike nodded, and hopped into the clubhouse. He was met with questioning stares, and Eddie shoved his way in front of the rest. 

“Well? What happened, is he okay? You gotta start talking, Hanlon.”

Mike let out a nervous chuckle. “I don’t know yet. He’s not okay right now, but hopefully I can help enough in the next few minutes. Does anyone have any water for him? He’s gonna cry himself dry.”

Ben quickly handed Mike his water, and nodded. “Tell him that I’m here for him. We all are.”

“Will do,” Mike said, climbing back out. 

He looked around and saw Richie back at the tree, kicking the roots gently, like he was at a party that he really would rather not be a part of. 

“Richie?”

He wiped his eyes and turned around, walking briskly back to Mike. He took the water and drank it all in one gulp. _Mike and Stan know what they’re talking about_, he thought. _Crying is exhausting._

Richie exhaled. “I really… it’s just… I’ve gotten so much shit from people who I don’t know, that… the idea of… people I do know… it’s just really scary. I’m… I'm…”

Mike brought him into a hug, strong and welcoming. “It’s okay, Richie. Hey.” He pulled the boy to arms length and looked in his eyes. We’re all here for you. Ben told me to tell you that he’s here for you too.”

“Heh,” Richie sniffled. “Good ol’ haystack. Uh…” He frowned again and looked down. “I’m gay.”

“Aw, Richie,” Mike said, hugging the once more crying boy. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’ll be okay, Richie.”

“I’m sorry, Mikey.”

“Don’t be sorry, hey. Don’t be sorry.”

The two stood there hugging for a few more minutes before Richie spoke. “We should probably head back in.” 

“Only if you want to.”

Richie adjusted his glasses and nodded. “Now or never, eh?”

Mike shook his head. “Take your time, Rich. No rush.”

Richie shrugged and started walking. “Gotta give Haystack his water bottle back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mike is Crushing on Stan but neither of them mentioned being Not Straight to Richie bc they weren’t sure he wanted them to take that from him- they’ll come out to him later on, once everyone is calm and Good. <3 thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very very short!! I've been s u p e r busy, so I haven't really had time to write, but I got a drabble down, and I have upcoming plans. :)

When Mike and Richie jumped back into the clubhouse, everyone stopped talking. Richie nervously fidgeted with the hem of his shirt and adjusted his glasses. “Gee, didn’t think I was that important, er.. as you were, soldiers.” He did a mock salute and gently pushed past the wall of losers as he went to the hammock. He sat down slowly instead of jumping in as he usually does. Beverly walked over and sat down next to him. 

“Do you still want to talk about it? Whatever you were talking about… before?”

Richie nodded. “It’s just hard.”

Beverly frowned. “I’m sorry if I scared you or made you nervous earlier. I wasn’t sure if you’d have rathered me knowing ahead of time or if it would be better for me to just act like I didn’t know.”

“Honestly I don’t know what would have been better either.” He took a shaky breath and gripped his shorts tightly in his fists. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to say it properly again, so… I’m just going to ask: have you read… _it_.”

“On the bathroom stall?” She looked away when Richie nodded. “Yeah, I… I have.”

“It’s true. Well, not _really_ true, I don’t... you know. I’ve never… Never even _kissed_ anyone, let alone-”

“It’s okay, Richie. You don’t have to explain yourself. You’re okay.”

Richie nodded. Bev gave him a hug. 

“Who else knows?” Bev said. 

“Stan and Mike. I thought I was going to tell all of you, but…”

“Got scared?”

“Yeah… It’s just… How do I know? How do I know they’re not all going to hate me? I know we’re the “losers club” but… how far does that go?”

“It extends to _everyone_, Richie. You didn’t kick Ben out for being overweight, you didn’t kick Mike out for being black, and you didn’t kick me out, despite the extensive rumors about me. They, _we_, aren’t going to kick you out for-”

“Wait, no, don't say it! Sorry, I just- nngh, this sucks.”

“It’s okay, Richie. Promise.” Beverly mussed up his hair and chuckled. “It’ll be okay.”

“Molly Ringwald, when did you get so wise?”

Beverly leaned into his ear and whispered “Everyone's a little queer, Rich.”

Richie pulled Bev into a hug, and standing up from where they were sitting. “I’m gonna head home, I think.” He leaned down and lowered his voice. “I’ve had enough coming out for one day.”

Bev chuckled, and Stan offered to walk him home. 

“No thanks, Stanny, I’ll be alright.”

“I gotta walk home anyways,” Eddie piped up. “Sure you don’t want the company?”

Richie nodded, scolding himself internally. “Sure, Eddie Spaghetti. Maybe I’ll stop by and give a sweet kiss to the missus.” He winked and Eddie punched his arm as he walked past him to the ladder.

“Bye, Rich,” Mike called. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's been a hot minute, but I'll have more time to write now that I have a new computer and am quarantined with lots of time and nothing to do :)
> 
> TW//  
referenced vomit, implied homophobia, internalized homophobia

On the walk, Richie and Eddie were uncharacteristically silent. Richie didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t a comfortable silence by any stretch of the meaning- this? This was _torture_. Eddie wasn’t saying anything for once in their fucking lives, and Richie didn’t know _why_. And then-

“Rich?”

“Yeah, Eddie Spaghetti?” Richie looked over at Eddie, who was fiddling with the zipper of his fanny pack. 

“Are you… are you okay?”

“Peachy-keen, Eds!” Richie chuckles nervously. 

“Can you be serious? Please?”

Richie turned, and Eddie looked like he was damn near tears. 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, sure, what’s wrong, Eddie?” Richie adjusted his glasses and stopped walking. 

“You _bolted_ out of the clubhouse and puked with no warning! I just wanna make sure there’s nothing wrong.”

Richie thought about that for a moment. On one hand, he tells Eddie, and everything goes well. He scoops the little shit into his arms and rides off into the fuckin’ sunset with him. But on the other, far more likely hand, Eddie recoils in disgust and calls him a creative slew of words to rival even Bowers’s gang. 

“Nah, Eds, just something I ate earlier.”

Eddie quirked an eyebrow.

“Probably your mom’s-”

“Richie, shut the _fuck up_!” Eddie squirmed and pretended to gag next to him. The rest of the walk was normal, back to the usual cat-and-mouse banter that the two so often engage in. Richie was thankful for this.

When they arrived back to Richie’s house, Eddie got quiet again. 

“Eddie? You alright?”

“Don't wanna go home.”

“Wanna come in? I'm sure Mags and Went would love it, I swear they love you more than me.”

Eddie nodded. “Sounds great, Rich.”

The two boys were immediately greeted by Maggie and Wentworth dancing in the kitchen, very loudly to Queen’s _Crazy Little Thing Called Love_:

_“This thing!”_

_“This thing!”_

_“Called love!”_

_“Called_ love, _baby!”_

_“I just-_ Oh! Hello, boys!” 

Maggie whipped around from where Wentworth had twirled her around and announced Richie and Eddie’s arrival, Freddie Mercury’s voice still serenading the four of them in the background. She ran over to her son, mussed his hair and kissed his forehead, and then turned to Eddie, offering a tight hug, to which he graciously accepted.

“Hi, Eddie! It’s so good to see you, hon.”

“You too, Mrs. Tozier.” He smiled softly.

Wentworth glanced over from where he had Richie in a bone-crushing hug and put a hand in the air. _“How many times I gotta tell you, Eddie,”_ he said in a Voice, recognizable as maybe a New Yorker. _“We’re on first name basis.”_

“Right,” Eddie chuckled. “Went.”

“Wentworth Tozier gets off a _good one_,” Richie said, giving his father a high-five. Eddie laughed, and nodded.

“How long are you stayin’ with us, kiddo?” Maggie put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed affectionately.

“Oh, uh, I don't know. I really should be going now, actually. Thank you for letting me stop by, though.” Eddie began making his way to the door, but Richie grabbed his arm to turn him around, before yanking his hand away like it had been burned.

“Stay for supper at least? Sonia can wait, I’m sure.” He adjusted his glasses.

“I can’t, Richie. Thank you, again, Maggie. Wentworth.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

Eddie left, and the door shut with an uncomfortable click.

Richie groaned and let his forehead hit the doorframe to the kitchen. 

“Son? You feeling okay?” Wentworth patted his son on the back, Maggie stood beside him.

_“Peachy.”_

“Talk to us, Richie. What’s going on?” Maggie asked.

“I have a lot of feelings that I don't know how to process, and it’s weird enough talking to you two about it.”

“Why is it weird?” Wentworth led them back to the living room, sitting with his son on the couch, rubbing his back gently. Richie not-so-subtly brushes him off.

“I don't know! It's just- I-”

“Woah, hon, slow down. Talk to us,” Maggie said.

“I can’t. It’d be bad.”

“Bad?” Went adjusted his glasses.

“You know where we live. What’s on the news. I just _can’t!_” Richie barely let out an aborted sob and ran up to his room, slamming the door behind him.

“Where we… live? The news? What’s he talking about, Went?”

“Mags, I haven't got a clue.”

Richie slid down the wall and took off his glasses. He sniffed and wiped his eyes before nestling his head on his tucked in knees. If anyone were to look at him, they might remark that he no longer was the tall and cocky boy with a “your mom” joke at the ready. Instead, he looked like a child, scared of the monster under his bed. Except Richie’s monster couldn’t be brushed off in the morning, it followed him with every step he took, every laugh, every glance, and _oh_, he almost told his _parents_. 

“Fuck! Fuck fuck _fuck!_” RIchie let out a yell and let his head hit the door, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, exhaustion dragging down his throat.

Maggie and Wentworth didn't hear over the music.


End file.
